Lovely Bones
by Mimioto
Summary: D/H Slash : the mortality of bones, love and war


Lovely Bones  
  
By: Mimioto  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or any of the plot in either one of the four books. They all belong to J.K.Rowling and I'm just a little girl inspired by her fairytale.  
  
Your bones were buried together in a past life  
  
And this is why you become enemies in this life.  
  
-Ancient Chinese saying  
  
He stood by the closed window, the shadows made by the lattice colouring his face a sickly grey. It was raining and the windowpanes looked as though they were slowly, continually melting. He could see the blotches of red of the banners, distorted by the waterfall of glass, on the battlefield. It was a pathetic sort of rain that turned the dirt to mud, a thick churning sort of mud that hid the corpses on the ground until you trod on them, and even then, the mud hid their features and you could not recognize who it was that lay dead. And you didn't know if you should cry or laugh.  
  
A battlefield was never tidy, the soldiers never lined up in rows and charged on command, the best plans went awry, and only a wise-man or a fool would bet on the outcome of a war.  
  
In the beginning, waves upon waves of scarlet uniforms had crashed against the black-clad robes, wands had unleashed sparks of colour like fireworks above the clash of steel, banners had flown higher than the hand that held them and the first rush of adrenaline flowed through every limb. Now, just hours later but an eternity for those who counted the seconds, the banners had been taking off to cover the bodies of fallen heroes, the colours of their mission making up for the grey of their dead faces. Their wands were crushed beneath the thousands of feet and sticks and bones were all that was left, sticks and bones churning in the mud. The uniforms of each side were so heavily coated with mud that no other colour was distinguishable, and perhaps it was easier that way.  
  
***  
  
Harry paused in the doorway, not wanting to disturb the silent form by the window, content to watch and leave. He knew he was a coward even though a dozen feet below him, there were those that claimed that he was a hero. He knew ironically that those who sought out courage from him were more courageous than he could ever be. He could never summon up the nerve when it truly mattered.  
  
Looking at him now, it was funny how he had always thought Draco to be rather fragile, and unconsciously, he had found it necessary to protect him from anything that could remotely hurt him; his father, Death Eaters, Voldemort himself. Draco always wore such a well-bred, artful façade that could be easily mistaken for innocence. His eyelashes curved so long they kissed his cheekbones when his eyes were closed and Harry loved to kiss his eyes. When he kissed them close, he could be sure that he wouldn't look up the next minute into grey eyes.  
  
Harry had fancied once that Draco had bird bones. Bones that were hollow like reeds and ever so delicate. He thought that if he touched him too carelessly, he would crumble beneath his fingers like shattered marble. It was difficult to see the delicacy now in the harsh shadowed lines that composed the figure by the window. Draco's back was rigid and his silhouette was sharp against the pale light. He was all jagged edges and broken angles; there was nothing delicate or weak about him now.  
  
He watched the form and he hesitated, but there was no time left to hold back words and he would soon be needed again.  
  
'Malfoy' he said.  
  
Draco turned around. 'Harry', he responded, not shocked at all to see him. The half-light from the window cast a shadow on his features, and Harry couldn't see his face but he was sure that a smirk wouldn't be far off and perhaps a gracefully raised eyebrow would greet him.  
  
Without another word, he went over. The mud on his uniform rubbed off slightly at the friction and the beautiful angel was tainted. Harry knew that if he showed the slightest amount of emotion, it would be everything they had. He had never been good at partings without reconciliation and this was no different. They had both known from the start and it was all understood, and oddly, this made him feel better than if Draco had burst into tears and begged him to stay. Harry smiled against the forceful lips pressed to his. Draco's hands encircled his elbows and his nails dug into the crook between them. Harry treasured these moments, and he felt somewhat special to have been the only one to have seen Draco this passionate. Others saw the frozen ice prince whose smile like killing frost could snap off limbs and break bones. He had seen the almost human Draco, the one that kissed furiously and hated even more passionately.  
  
He felt the smooth planes of his shoulder blades underneath the fabric of his shirt. He had believed, the first time he had seen those lovely shoulder blades that Draco could be a fallen angel and that the graceful lines of those bones were actually folded up wings. That if he was patient enough, perhaps one day he would wake up and find himself enfolded in grey wings. He would fall back asleep knowing that he was protected and lose himself to find true happiness. He had believed, once, that he could probably die happy if he woke up in grey wings.  
  
He memorized every feature of this boy, willing like a blind man for his fingertips to store knowledge that his memory would not recall. He kissed him harder, distracting him while his hands searched out his hands, palm on palm, fingers entwined and nails digging deep into life lines. He tried to make passionate sounds to enforce the charade that had been thrust upon him, but they came out slightly wistful. Draco pushed him away when he tried to kiss his eyes, and turned his back to him. Harry felt slightly ill and clenched his fists together, willing the knowledge within his fingertips to stay. He had not kissed his eyes, and now he would always be left with the image burned into his hands of a beautiful boy with no eyes.  
  
He didn't ask any questions and without another word, as silent as his entrance, he left.  
  
***  
  
Draco wiped the damp trails from underneath his eyelids with a graceful finger while his nail drew a bloody red welt across his perfect face. The salty taste of tears would betray everything. When he was sufficiently composed, he turned around again, but there was no one there. Only the mud on his perfect clothes, the rain on the stone floor and the blood on his cheek showed any indication that anyone else had been there. He knew, then, that Harry would die, and he knew, that he would die without knowing. They had both thought that the other one understood that a kiss was not a promise and that no promises made left no bonds to be broken. And yet they had both misunderstood one another. They knew that love was something idealistic and believed that something second best to love would compensate.  
  
Draco tortured himself further picturing Harry's funeral. Those that were left when the carnage of the battlefield had been covered over with several feet of mud would lay out his body and clean the mud from his wounds and especially from his scar, for that was all he stood for. They would deck him in bannered colours and lay flowers at his feet and the broken shards of his own wand in his hand. They would sing his praises and Draco would watch all of this from his window. His father would come and fetch him soon enough to fight some other battle, and he could only pray that when he died, he would be truly dead.  
  
He wished suddenly that Harry would die on the battlefield, and his body would be trampled and mangled beyond recognition, so that his bones would be buried in the mud. And perhaps hours later, when Draco died, and his body mixed to the carnage, they would be buried together, for with so many bones in a body, there was a chance that perhaps Harry's shinbone and his collarbone would remain together in undisturbed peace for the rest of eternity. It was almost laughable, and Draco laughed at how stupid his notions were.  
  
He remembered now, only now, the time he had told Harry that he would be his father's son and join his cause, wear his mask and take on his beliefs. Harry had not shouted, hit or cried. He had smiled, a little sadly and kissed him even gentler than he had before. And throughout the night, even when he showed him the Dark Mark, he had not said a word but his eyes looked older and he would not touch the Dark Mark on Draco's forearm. Draco had thought then that Harry was in denial and he had not pursued the issue further. When his father had taken him out of school a few months later, never to return, the event had never been mentioned. Now that he had time, so much time, on his hands to think it over, perhaps Harry had not been in denial, but had accepted it. Acknowledged it as he kissed his eyes and realized that it hadn't mattered.  
  
Perhaps it had been love or something tantalizingly close on both their parts.  
  
He opened the window and sat on the sill. He took off his shirt and held it by the pads of his fingertips so that the garment snapped and flapped about like a banner in the wind. From his high vantage point, dawn was coming white and bright, a line of light over the darkness of the thunderclouds. For those on the ground, the night would never end. I don't believe what you believe, I kill those that you fight to save, I harness the power that you seek to destroy, I break the bones that flows the blood than feeds your heart. I love you. He launched himself off.  
  
The wings unfurled from the collarbones and the angel swept the hero away and saved the day.  
  
Finis  
  
Please review if this story made you smile even a little bit or even if you disliked it, please tell me because every author wants to know how to make their story better. This is my first story and I'd be ever so glad if you lovely readers would help me make it better.  
  
The title "Lovely Bones" is taken from the book by Alice Sebold. 


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